Is this really necessary?

Fadzayi Maposah

Correspondent

When Government announced the first Covid-19 lockdown, many people were affected in one way or the other. 

The lockdown heralded the new normal. Adjusting is not easy. One had to adapt.

Being a member of the essential services, I went to work throughout the lockdowns and almost on a daily basis I witnessed the police turning away people who wanted to get into town for no apparent reason.

It took a lot of adjusting. It was a time that was difficult in that some people were alone. When something is allowed, one is not eager to do it. 

There seems to be no attraction in doing that, yet the moment that it is prohibited, there is this sudden desire to do that very thing.

When I am at home, I like to observe the road runner chickens and how they behave. 

During the lockdown, I used to share that once the lockdown was lifted, people would be like the chickens when they are let out of the chicken run. 

Chickens race out of the door with each one dashing to be the first one out.

Once the chickens are out of the fowl run, each bird looks for what it can eat, the approach that is used is “each man for himself”.

This issue of “each man for himself” entails that there should be things that we leave people to do on their own and have some privacy.

So, after the lockdown was lifted, I was visiting! My daughters refer to my being with other people as my meet and greet sessions. 

Actually, if I am going anywhere with my daughters they factor in time allowance for meet and greet. 

The girls claim that I seem to have many more people to meet and greet as I get older! I do not dispute that. As one gets older, one gets to appreciate time because reality really sinks in that the time one has could actually be running out.

On one of my meet and greet sessions, I was at a house that accommodates a number of families. I was there to check on one of the families that stay there. 

Everyone one of us needs a “ghetto” (high density suburb) experience. Being in the ghetto leaves one with many take away lessons. 

Tolerance is one of the lessons that one quickly obtains just being in the ghetto.

During this particular visit, I had to practise all aspects of tolerance that I could possibly master from within me. 

The lady I was visiting and I were seated on the stoep which many people in this country refer to as stubhu! As we sat looking at her garden, she was telling me how she had moved from being a learner gardener to a master gardener during the lockdown and how seeing the crops grow daily had been therapeutic for her.

As we were talking, one of the girls who stays at this place came from the side that her family occupies with a two litre tin. She mumbled an inaudible greeting before going to the rubbish pit at the end of the yard beyond the garden. 

She threw a match stick into the tin then leaped backwards as if she was afraid that something would jump out of the tin. 

Suddenly, there was a big orange flame laced with black sooty smoke from the tin.

My companion and I were sure that someone would call the Environmental Management Agency and we would be fined. 

After the flames subsided, while we watched with a lot of curiosity the girl got a stick from the rubbish pit and started stirring. We were now quiet, total concentration on the girl, the tin and the flames.

Being the adults that we are, we called out in unison “Be careful!” We stared at one another in embarrassment. The look that we got from the girl could only make us blush!

Her mother had heard us call out and came dashing out of the house putting on her wrapper as she walked barefoot towards us.

Hands on her waist she asked “What is it?”.

She said only one word, but her face spoke volumes. I was about to answer when I saw my companion’s raised eyebrows and quickly closed my mouth.

The mother after not getting a response then got a chance to fully express herself. 

She began ranting as if she was being charged to let out words at an amazing speed. Questions just flowed out of her. Her posture did not change.

“What is your problem? Do you have to sing a chorus to tell my child to be careful? Who asked you to help? Do I look irresponsible to you? Would I want to endanger my own child’s life? Do you find it difficult just to mind your own business?” she asked.

While the mother rattled on, the daughter seemed to be making accompanying sounds with the stick and tin. As we stared at the woman, I had just one question that kept going through my mind: “Is this really necessary?”

It is a question that I never mastered the courage to verbalise. Not this woman!

The mother stopped the barrage of questions, appeared as if she was about to go, she came to a sudden halt. 

She still had something to say and we waited with abated breath, what would it be this time?

“Cannot my daughter just burn her pads in peace without interference? Did you want her to show you the pads and the paraffin as she went to burn them? Or did you want to be consulted on how to dispose of the pads?” she asked.

She went back into the house. The daughter shook the ashes from her tin, threw the stick into the rubbish pit and then followed her mother into the house, but only after giving us a daring look.

Again the question raced in my mind, “Is this really necessary?”